[ In the silence that follows, Trahearne keeps his eyes on her, a mild expression on his face. He knows she understands what he means--that cats can sense genuinely kind people right away, regardless of how shy they initially are. They rarely give the truly vile the time of day.

And he is, in fact, just talking about cats. And if Seisyll (his "daughter") is happy to eat from the palm of her hand and accept scratches to her chin, then that's all he needs to know.

But her metaphor is not lost on him. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, his gaze dropping to watch his animal companion stretch, her eyes snapping open, making an attempt to climb up towards Beatrix's face. ]

I suppose there are.

[ He knows his life experiences may inform his present choices, but who he was then means little now. He's come to apply that thinking to everyone else he meets.

But he also knows his place. ]

Beatrix, I hope that, in times of distress, you have someone to talk to. It doesn't have to be me--it would be impudent of me to assume you would come to me, but know there are people here who care for you and would be more than happy to help you.

[ They wouldn't want a noctrix on their hands. ]